Chapter 3
3
CONNOR
I nurse my beer and really try my very best to engage in conversation with my firefighter colleagues, but I’m feeling so damn tired. I can barely listen. I can barely keep my eyes open. I just want to rest my head on this fucking table and take the longest nap in the world.
This week has been a tough one with the amount of hard work we’ve had to do as a team, never mind the fact that my own father came by the station to hurl his words of disappointment my way. The firefighting work I was ready for, but I was not ready for my father’s confrontation. I don’t ever want to show that his utterances can sting me, but they undoubtedly have.
You’re wasting your life, Connor.
That’s the venom he spat at me.
And I let it wash over me. I let it in through my defenses. I let it fucking sting ...
“You okay, man?” Eric asks me, coldly hauling my ass out of my memories and back to reality.
I look up from my cold beer at my friend. Eric is another firefighter at Crystal River’s sole fire station. He’s a loyal guy. A damn good man. A close buddy of mine. He’s wearing the Crystal River’s firefighter’s uniform – a deep blue polo shirt with the title of the town’s firefighter department printed in large white letters on the back. He’s clean-shaven. Crewcut brown hair. The same age as me, nearing our thirties. He takes good care of himself.
I wish I took care of myself like that...
Instead of being a lonely bastard who hasn’t shaved in a hell of a long time.
We’re sitting in a bar one town over from Crystal River. We drove here after an uneventful job and decided to clock out early. The last job of the long, hard week – done. Cold beers are better than boring paperwork back at the station. And so I’m surrounded by ten of my best friends – my only friends. We firefighters stick together no matter what. No other friendship group could compare to what we have. We’re like family. The other guys are all chatting peacefully amongst themselves, and I’m still nursing that beer and thinking of how inviting this table would be to rest my head for a moment’s siesta.
“I’m good,” I reply to my best man. It’s a grumble - very characteristic of me.
Eric regards me suspiciously but knows me well enough to understand he won’t get another word out of me about how I’m feeling. I don’t let much slip through my battlements.
“What did you do on your days off last week?” he asks. “You never said what you got up to.”
“Not much,” I reply.
Another grumble.
Yeah, I’m not great at the whole conversation thing.
I am a man of few words, and Eric knows that. People have said I’m a serious man... that I’m grumpy. I am not grumpy ... I just don’t find the need to be so damn cheerful all the time. I do my job well and I stick to myself. Does anyone expect anything more than that?
That’s why I became a firefighter. It’s not really an occupation known for its people skills and extroverted nature - you simply have to do the manual work well and save lives.
No one expects you to speak small talk when you’re wearing more protective gear than a soldier on the front lines.
“You just sat around and did nothing on your days off, then?” Eric asks.
Oh, he’s trying to prod the beast. I get it.
But I’m not going to let him.
I think about what I really did on my days off last week... where I went... how I will never tell another soul on this planet about that...
I’m not even going to tell Eric.
“I had peace,” I reply. “Solitude.”
It’s the truth.
“That’s what you did?”
“It’s all you can wish for in this life.”
“That’s so unlike you,” Eric remarks sarcastically, with a smirk.
The men I work with know that I don’t like drama. They know I would be perfectly happy if we never had to speak a word to each other ever again and just did the work in total silence.
I raise the glass of beer and take in a big gulp. I’m not nursing it anymore. I need the alcohol in my veins.
I will enjoy this time with my team...
But I am suddenly interrupted in my drinking by a man who has silently approached the table.
“Penmaynes are not welcome in this bar,” the man growls at the back of my head.
I place my beer back on the table. I can’t see him yet, so I turn in his direction.
Penmaynes?
The man looms over me – his unkempt beard and his cheap baseball cap both successfully hiding his dumb face. I see those eyes staring at me. Unintelligent, drunk eyes. He’s being bold. Bolder than he should be.
I really don’t want to fucking deal with this now.
“I’m not a Penmayne,” I lie to the intruder.
I’m going to be kind. I’m going to give him an out.
“Well, you certainly look like a Penmayne to me,” the man growls. “I know you are. You’ve got that dumb, fake face. You’re not welcome outside of Crystal River.”
He’s tempting fate now.
Eric looks up.
The other firefighters stop their conversations and look up at the man. They’re all noticing something is not right at my end of the table, even if they didn’t hear exactly what’s been said.
“Hey, how about you leave me and my friends alone,” I say to the man in the calmest voice I can. I really don’t want the drama. I’ll give him another chance.
“Yeah, you’re a Penmayne for sure. Didn’t you hear me? You lot aren’t welcome here in this town.”
“I’ll even buy you a beer,” I continue. “Just step away and leave us in peace.”
“I don’t want your lousy Penmayne money,” the man barks. “Fuck off back to Crystal River with your big fancy mansion and all your money. You don’t know what it’s like to be normal. You are a pussy.”
I sigh.
I really don’t want this, but there’s only so much my pride can take.
I’ve given this bloke enough chances.
“You want a fight?” I ask the thug. “You really want this?”
He laughs.
“You can’t fight, Penmayne.”
“Just walk away, man.”
“You really are a coward, aren’t you? You’re not as tough as your brothers, and they’re all pussies.”
“Don’t talk shit about my brothers,” I growl.
He’s really crossing a fucking line.
“Hang on, didn’t one of them get into a car crash and die?” the man asks, chuckling at the realization. “A fucking car crash? Yeah, that’s what I heard. Someone hit him? He wasn’t looking? He was that dumb he couldn’t even drive . He sounds like he was the biggest pussy of all the Penmayne brothers, even more than you.”
He’s talking about Arthur - my brother who did die in a car crash.
I glance at Eric. He’s looking at me.
We know that this has pushed past the limit. We know this means a fight.
I can’t back down now, not when he’s insulted my fucking dead brother.
There was more of a man in Arthur’s little finger than in this drunk man’s entire body.
And he’s about to understand that it ain’t a good idea to start a fight with a Penmayne...
I get up slowly. I draw up to my full height. I’m now the one looming over. I am far, far taller than this bloke. He takes me in. I must look bigger and stronger than when I am sitting at a table hunched over nursing my beer.
“Last chance,” I whisper at the man. “Leave now, or we’ll have trouble. Last. Fucking . Chance.”
He looks me up and down one last time before he’s snarling.
“Arthur Penmayne was a real big pussy,” he sneers. “And he deserved to die.”
I don’t remember much of what happens next, but I do know I swing the first punch.
And I know it makes contact.
My apartment is practically empty, and sort of deliberately so. I’m not a man of many possessions or memorabilia - there are barely any decorations or furniture in here that aren’t a necessity. And that’s because I don’t even spend much time here – I’m always at the station. And on my days off, I’m always somewhere else .
That bar... that man...
I head straight for the bathroom when I enter my apartment and proceed to wash my face before I dare look at my reflection in the mirror. There’s a dark bruise over my eye. It’ll go away soon. I’m not worried about it. I check my arms and neck. No other marks. At least I wasn’t too badly beaten up this time - just some blood that’ll easily wash off in the shower.
I did win that fight, though, even if I didn’t want to take part in it.
Fuck.
I don’t want to have anything to do with my family, but I won’t hear a bad thing said about any one of my brothers. Especially not about Arthur.
I just want to help people, not participate in fights.
Yeah, a bar brawl really helps people, you idiot.
I sigh and pat the bruise on my face. I was stupid for getting involved with that mouthy thug, but now he’s learned his lesson. And he was the one who came up to me and started talking shit. What did he expect would happen?
Did he think I wouldn’t defend my honor?
I’m glad I’ve got my firefighter friends backing me up, no matter what. They came to my side immediately once I threw that first punch and the thug’s mates all rushed in. My crew made short work of them. We always have each other’s backs. The fight was over pretty damn quickly. A real fight doesn’t last as long as in the movies. My brother Victor is an actor in blockbuster movies, and the amount of inaccurate fistfights I’ve seen him in on the big screen always makes me laugh when I have participated in my fair share of brawls.
It doesn’t need to be said that the thugs were on the losing side of today’s particular skirmish.
These bruises will come and go, but the one thing that permanently hurts is that the man at the bar spoke of Arthur. I hate being reminded of the brother I love the most. I hate hearing a single bad word spoken of him.
He’s the brother who shouldn’t have been taken away so early...
He was the life of the family - the man everyone loved. He was the best of all of us. Arthur and I would have long talks about everything and nothing that went on all night. He had the best advice. I cherish those memories.
And now he’s gone. Permanently.
And a fucking thug at some shitty bar dared to speak about him...
I take a shower and clean off the blood. My joints ache as the hot water streams down my body. I take my time to wash myself down, cleansing myself of the shit I had to do today.
And then I am sliding into bed with a groan.
And I fall asleep dreaming of long, peaceful summer days with Arthur.